


state o' love and trust

by glycerineclown



Series: state o' love and trust [1]
Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Communication, Cunnilingus, Daredevil S3 Spoilers, Dirty Talk, F/M, The Frank Castle Defense Squad, Vaginal Sex, the punisher s2 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-10-30 19:48:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17835035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glycerineclown/pseuds/glycerineclown
Summary: After the whirlwind, in the space of two or three days, Frank talks to a grand total of seven people. He relays and receives some harsh truths, but the world doesn’t end. Maybe being alone isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.Alternatively summarized as:Frank Castle gives in to the most dangerous woman in his life.





	state o' love and trust

**Author's Note:**

> Frank: I don't want to.  
> Karen: I dOn'T wAnT tO.
> 
>  **POST-THE PUNISHER SEASON TWO! POST-DAREDEVIL SEASON 3! THEY BOTH HAPPENED! SPOILERS GALORE!**
> 
> I'm gonna discuss Beth Quinn, too, like she's a human person, and like Frank and Karen are adults, and I don't want to hear any whining about it. I will turn this car around! Title is from one of my favorite Pearl Jam songs, because after "Would?" was in the Season 2 trailer, I've been listening to the Singles soundtrack quite a bit.
> 
> Also, cancellations fucking suck. Here's a band-aid for that gaping wound.

 

 

Frank sits in the driver’s seat for most of five minutes before he turns over the engine on Madani’s black Crown Vic. There’s a sign in front of the bumper—PICK UP/DROP OFF ONLY—and it feels like when Lisa and Frankie were still in elementary school. When he was home, he always drove them, wouldn’t let them take the bus. Snuck treats into their sack lunches instead of wads of cash.

He’d bolted as soon as Amy passed through the bay doors. Couldn’t be caught weeping in public, he does have _some_ shred of a reputation to uphold.

Or maybe he thought if he didn’t run, he wouldn’t be able to let her go.

Probably the latter.

There’s relief in knowing that she _can_ leave, though. And it feels good to have some semblance of control over that change. That she’s not just out of his life because she’s dead, like so many others he’s said goodbye to. Maybe he’ll see her again, but he knows he shouldn’t entertain that.

He drives the car back to Madani’s fancy building—he’s the third hand it’s passed through now, after Pilgrim, and the kid. Frank parks it on the street, and sends her a text. Stashes the keys inside an electrical box in the next alley. It hurt him to kill her blue Mustang way back when, and government vehicle or no, he won’t be the cause of a second ride fuckup for Madani after she housed and fed him.

Frank catches a cab, asks to be let out a few blocks from the trailer, walks the rest of the way, scanning the area. He doesn’t see anything off, and goes inside, passes out on the bed.

When Frank wakes up, it’s dark, close to four in the morning. He makes something to eat, and cleans up the cuts on his face, and plugs in his burner to charge. He takes a dump, and sleeps some more.

When Frank wakes up again, he checks his phone. All that’s new is a string of texts from the kid—getting to Jacksonville had taken her three Greyhounds and just over twenty-four hours. She’d checked into a motel, said it was lonely without him.

She’ll get over that right quick.

He knows he should call Karen. That she’ll be waiting for it.

He calls Curtis instead. Gets the download on what he and Madani said to Mahoney. Chews him out a little for running off with the senator when they were about to do a fucking prisoner exchange.

At least there’s no more price on his head. Or Amy’s. Not with the Schultzes in a puddle of blood over their dinner.

His whole body aches, down deep in his bones, but not enough to stop his eyelids from drooping again. Feels like he could sleep for a week. Like the more he gets, the more his body is aware of how much it needs.

There’s a text from Karen’s number when he wakes up. It’s mid-afternoon by the light outside.

**_Where are you?_ **

He smirks as he thumbs out an answer she won’t be happy with— ** _Queens._**

**_Tell me where you are, Frank._ **

No one knows this place, beyond Madani and Curt and that preacher-lookin’ shitbird. The senator had been blindfolded. It’s probably safer to tell her than for him to go to her, he thinks. And if the cops have her phone, well. That’ll just be another adventure. Frank limps over to his bag, and finds the piece of paper where Curt had written down the address. He types it out onto his phone and hits send. **_33 128th place, corona. Silver trailer._**

He gets out the first aid kit after that, and replaces a few busted stitches, rubs ointment into his wounds. Tosses a few broken pieces of wood paneling out the front door of the trailer.

It’s not much of an improvement in either case. Neither are fit for visitors.

He feels uneasy, off-balance in his gut, and at first he thinks maybe he’s hungry, but Frank realizes at some point that it’s _butterflies_ , that he’s _nervous_ —that Karen’s coming over and he doesn’t know what the fuck to do. He opens a can of pears from the back of one of the kitchen cabinets and eats it with a fork.

He waits.

It’s getting dark when the gravel outside crunches under tires. Frank cranes his neck to look out the window, and there she is. Shutting the door of her car. Putting her bag over her shoulder.

Beautiful.

She looks up when he opens the door, and takes in his face, her own falling into a wince. “Oh no, Frank.”

“Kid wasn’t lying about a hitman.”

Karen scoffs as she climbs the cinder-block steps, and crosses the threshold. She looks around the place—it’s pretty well destroyed.

“Sawed-off shotgun?” she asks, pointing to the cheese-grater holes through the door.

Frank nods. “Told Amy to shoot first if anyone came knockin’, ask questions later.”

“Where is she?”

“Put ‘er on a bus to Florida,” he says, and gestures toward the couch. It’s got bloodstains, but they blend in well enough to the 70s Chevron print.

They sit down, Karen’s head still swiveling to look at everything. “Have you been living here?”

Jesus Christ, she’s still such a reporter, even if she doesn’t work for the Bulletin anymore. Frank nods. “Just the past few days, with the kid. Curtis set us up with it.”

She turns to look at him. “You’re not gonna stay here.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Come home with me.”

“No.”

“Come home with me, Frank.”

He scrunches his nose up. “Have the cops called you?”

“Just Mahoney. He said Russo’s dead, that _Dinah_ killed him.” She makes a face like she doesn’t believe that for a second. “But don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not gonna go home with you.”

Karen shakes her head at him, she’s getting frustrated now. “Y’know, you act like I’m so pure, like I’m not fucked-up like Dinah, or like I don’t need you, but you don’t know the half of it, Frank.”

“Look, it’s not about what I think you can take, all right. It’s about what _I_ can take. Do you get that?”

Karen huffs. “What were you gonna do, before Amy interrupted us?”

Now she’s the one changing the subject. Frank’s finger twitches against his knee. “Somethin’ stupid. Reckless.” He looks away.

“Answer my question, Frank.”

He sighs at her, hikes one foot up onto the makeshift coffee table. “You know what I was gonna do, Karen.”

Karen shakes her head again, but it’s looser this time, smaller, her jaw isn’t set. “I don’t, actually.”

“Yes you do.”

She throws her hands up. “Look, Frank, I didn’t come over here to get in a fight with you.”

“Yeah, what did you come over for, then?”

“To make you finish what you started. I’ve never seen you half-ass anything in your goddamn life. You don’t get to start somethin’ with me and then run scared.”

It’s a dare, now. He takes his foot down from the table. “Fine, you wanna whole-ass this shit?” Frank sits forward on the couch, and then he gets to his feet.

Karen’s watching every move he makes, and there’s some amount of surprise on her face when he holds his hand out, but she takes it. Her fingers are soft, but her grip is strong, even if she doesn’t put much of her weight on him to get up.

When she’s standing in front of him, Frank inches closer, and her other hand comes up to his shoulder again, warm through his shirt.

“Karen, you’re—” Frank sighs, and closes his eyes. “If I lose you I don’t think I’ll be able to get back up again.”

“You won’t lose me.”

He can feel her step closer, and Frank opens his eyes as her hands reach up to frame his battered face. Frank breathes out. “If I kiss you, what happens?”

“Why don’t you try it and find out, huh?”

She’s smiling, a little. Her tongue darts out to whet her lips.

“It’s okay, Frank,” she says, nodding. “I want this.”

He leans forward until their foreheads touch, slides a hand around the back of her neck. “I want to be with you. Don’t think I don’t. But I—I don’t have anything to offer you, Karen. Just pain, just my bullshit.”

“I don’t believe that,” she says. “Stop thinking and kiss me, Frank.”

She might be the most steadfast woman he’s ever met.

With a huff, Frank leans in, and presses his mouth to hers. His face hurts and he has a busted lip, but it doesn’t matter. He has to do it, has to know what it feels like to be with her, has to pull her lower lip into his mouth.

Her arms wind around his neck as he tilts further into the kiss—when he slides his tongue over the seam of her lips they part for him, smiling into his mouth.

She pecks him, then, and pulls back an inch. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? World didn’t end.”

If there was a way forward for them, if they could just make it work, if he could just stop—every beating he’s ever taken might be worth it. But he can’t. It won’t be worth it when he’s holding her lifeless body in his arms.

“Nah, just wait, Karen. Get lulled into a false sense of security, that’s when they get ya.”

Karen sighs at him. “Always got your eye on the worst-case scenario, don’t you.”

He’d tried to keep the tone light, but it probably didn’t translate. Not when he meant it. Frank nods.

Karen hums, and pitches toward his mouth again, one of her hands sliding down over his chest. He goes for her neck, then, and she bends for him—her breathing picks up under his lips, and he bites gently at the skin beneath her jaw, soothes it with his tongue, presses kisses across her cheek.

Karen’s hand ends up between them, eventually—and when he glances down, she’s opening her jeans, and then wrapping her fingers around his wrist, drawing his hand down between her legs.

It’s his bad hand, but fuck, she’s _wet_.

He’s beat to hell, he’ll hurt her if he puts them inside—Maria always made him trim and file his nails when he came home from deployment—but he circles his fingertips over her clit.

Frank groans and meets her mouth again, and nods his head toward the far end of the trailer. “There’s, uh—there’s a bed in the back.”

He doesn’t let up with his fingers, though, can’t for the life of him, and Karen’s kissing him again, and then pulling back to shake her head.

“Come home with me, Frank.”

“You better be fucking kidding,” he says, and removes his hands from her, only to take her by the shoulders and push her down onto the couch.

He gets on his knees after that, tugs Karen’s jeans down around her ankles. “Tell me no,” he growls, dragging her hips to the edge of the couch, but she grabs his hair in two fists and shoves his face between her legs.

It’s so carnal, it’s not really what he expected to be doing with Karen just minutes after their first kiss, but he’s not complaining—she tastes good, even if this hurts his face worse than kissing her had.

He gets her there, doesn’t take long. The breathy edge to her moans, the way they exit through her clenched teeth, will be stuck in his head for weeks. When she finishes twitching, her fingers loosening, he kisses her thighs, and gets to his feet.

His knees fucking hate him, now, though. He shouldn’t have done that. For a lot of reasons, he shouldn’t have done that.

But he packs up his shit, and gets in Karen’s car.

He hopes he won’t regret it.

 

It feels nice to drive with her in the dark, even if he’s never been comfortable in the passenger seat. Watching the lights move over her skin, no music on. He’s missed her. Thought a lot about her while he was on the road, imagined she was there with him.

Karen catches him looking a few times, and smiles out the windshield, but that’s all—and he says nothing until they’re deep in Brooklyn.

“Y’know, the weirdest thing happened on the way out the hospital.”

She looks at him, and then at her mirrors. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, Mahoney was saying my name over the loudspeaker, and Madani and I were turning a corner by the morgue—and there was some nurse there, pushing a stretcher, right. And I thought maybe he’d try to stop us, but he didn’t react, he—I looked back, and he—he was wearing high heels. Black ones.”

Karen smiles. “That _is_ weird.”

A black SUV passes them in the left lane, and he keeps his eyes on it, sees her doing the same. “Yeah, especially because when you an’ Madani came back from the morgue, you were barefoot.”

“He, um,” she starts, and then chuckles, shaking her head, as she turns on her blinker, and takes the next right. “That’s _Creepy Ed_. He was my main contact at the morgue, when I was at the Bulletin. Let me in on the details, for articles and stuff.”

“Is that so.”

“Yeah, he’s got a thing for me. But, um. When it comes to trading info for favors, there’s only one thing he ever really wanted.”

Frank turns to face her in the seat, eyebrows raised as high as they can go. “He let you guys view the bodies because you gave him your _shoes?_ ”

Karen shrugs and grins, wide. “Y’know what they say about girls with big feet.”

 

Her apartment is the same as he remembers—not that he’s spent much time here.

She leads him down a shelf-lined hallway to her bedroom, and points to a spot on the floor where he can put down his bag. It’s a cozy room, with a queen size bed and a dresser, a closet with the doors wide open.

They walk back out to the living area, and Frank drags a finger over the wood grain on her kitchen table while Karen opens the fridge, and pulls out two beers.

“You hungry?” she asks. “I could heat something up.”

He smirks at her. “I already ate.”

Karen’s jaw drops a little, and she shakes her head, and rounds the edge of the counter, their beers forgotten. Frank catches her when she wraps around him.

“Think you’re real funny, don’t you,” she hisses into his mouth.

“Oh, I know I am,” Frank says, slipping a hand down over her backside.

Karen groans, and scrapes her teeth over his jawline. “Gonna let me return the favor?”

“Wasn’t no favor, Karen. Been wantin’ to do that for a year and a half.” He digs into the curve of her ass with his fingers.

“Yeah?” she asks, with a smile, pulling back to see his face. “What else do you want to do?”

“Anything. M’not picky.”

Karen steps back to appraise him, biting her lip, and Frank shrugs out of his jacket, tossing it over a chair.

“Okay,” she says. “Go sit on the couch.”

He does. Her couch is comfortable, just enough give, and he slouches back, and looks up at her.

She steps up, until she’s in front of him, between his knees, and she sinks to the floor.

“Karen—” he starts, as she goes for his waistband, “You don’t gotta just cause I did it—”

“I haven’t decided _what_ I’m gonna do with you yet,” she says, dragging his zipper down. “We’ve gotta get acquainted first.”

Frank laughs as he lifts his hips, and helps her get his jeans down. “Got shot in the ass, careful with the merchandise,” he says.

Karen bends over to look, and then rears back. “Oh, Jesus, Frank,” she says, laughing, and presses a hand to her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too,” he says, as he’s tugging his briefs down over his knees.

Karen brings her hands down to grab the ankle of his pants, pulling them and the briefs off, tossing them on the rug.

It’s at this point that Frank has the strangest sensation of watching himself from across the room, like he can’t let himself be in it. He watches her lean up toward him on her knees, and she kisses him, helps him pull his shirt over his head. He watches her eyes skate over his scars—there are fresh ones _everywhere_ , now—and then her gaze lands on his dick.

He’s not hard yet, but his blood’s up, he’s ready for her.

“Frank,” she says, soft, ghosting her hands up his thighs. He’s seeing her from the couch now, the way she’s supposed to be observed, he should cherish this, he should—

She looks up when he wraps one hand around the back of her neck, pulls her in for another kiss—and with the other hand, he fists himself. Frank sighs into her mouth when one of her hands joins his, keeps pace with the way he likes it. When he pushes his tongue past her lips, Karen scrapes her teeth over it.

And then she’s pushing at his chest, making him sit back against the couch, and taking his hand from his cock, wrapping her own around the base.

She’s so beautiful when she knows what she wants. It’s probably why he’s never able to deny her. Karen ducks her head, blonde hair spilling forward, and takes him into her warm mouth.

Frank’s next exhale shakes, and his hands settle around the shape of her skull, so carefully, as Karen flattens her tongue and takes him deeper. She said she hadn’t decided yet—and that means there are _options_. He votes that they fuck tonight, but god, he’d take anything, anything with her.

She could leave him with blueballs right now and he’d still make her come again and thank her for the opportunity, the privilege.

“Fuck,” he says, more to himself than to Karen, and his eyes drift closed, as she bobs there—and they burst open again when she _sucks_ , hard—and then she’s pulling off, flipping her hair out of her face.

She’s smiling, her mouth shining with spit.

“God, Karen,” he says, bringing a hand to her cheek, rubbing his thumb over her lips, wiping the edges of her mouth. “Looks like you got acquainted,” he says, and she nods, turning to kiss the heel of his hand. “What’s the verdict.”

“You’re gonna fuck me,” she says.

Frank nods, mouth wide open. “Yeah. Where.”

“Right here.” Karen braces her hands on his spread knees as she gets to her feet.

He helps get her jeans off for the second time that day, watches her strip her top over her head, and undo the clasp of her bra, and fuck—then she’s putting a knee up on the couch, and straddling him. He wraps his arms around her, and they’re skin-to-skin. He presses his face into her chest as she digs her fingernails into his scalp.

He’d figure a way to fuck her with any injury, but it’s a relief that she chose to ride him. Karen adjusts her knees a little farther apart, and then she’s sinking down to press herself against his cock. She’s wet again, and bare.

“Are you—uh—” Frank starts, and Karen nods, like she’s reading his mind.

“I’m on the pill,” she says. “Clean, last I checked.”

Frank could not give less of a shit if Karen had STDs, honestly—it’s getting her pregnant that would break him. God, he can just imagine it, even though she doesn’t seem like the type to want kids, she might get it in her head to keep it for _him_ , a murderous vigilante with children long dead, ruin her own life even further. He’s not capable of marrying her, of settling down, of giving her normal.

He’ll pull out before he comes, just to be safe.

He and Beth had gone through about six condoms from a box in her bathroom. After Frankie was born, Maria was always on the pill.

He should probably just get a vasectomy.

“Frank?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” he says, and kisses her. “Thinkin’ too hard, sorry.”

She’s looking into his eyes, though. “We can use a condom if you want to,” she says, no hurt in her voice, just concern, just understanding.

Frank sighs, and lifts a hand to her cheek. It would mean he’d be able to relax, and just focus on her. Slowly, he nods, and Karen does too, kisses him again.

“Okay. One sec.”

He watches her climb off of him and go around a corner toward her bedroom. His mouth is dry—and he thinks of the beers on her counter, and gets to his feet, heading into the kitchen. She’d gotten an opener out too, so Frank flips off the tops, and takes a drag from one.

Karen’s putting a couple of condoms and a bottle of lube on the coffee table when he returns.

“I haven’t washed that blanket in a while,” she says, nodding toward a plush throw over the back of the couch. Frank takes the hint, and puts their beers down to spread out the fabric over the cushions.

And then she’s guiding him down onto the couch, and straddling him again, her long, pale body mounting him, her hands careful on his skin.

He touches her right back, pushes her hair over her shoulders, trails his fingers down her neck.

Frank dips his hand down over her clavicle, and cups one perfect breast in his hand, ducks his head to swipe his tongue over the other. It doesn’t take long for her arms to wrap around his head and hold him there, so he takes her nipple into his mouth and sucks, worries it between his teeth.

Karen whimpers—she _likes_ that, he notes—and when he does it again, seals his mouth around her and tugs at her other nipple with his fingers, she cries out.

He pulls back and smirks, kisses across her skin, over her throat, and her hands dig into his hair.

She’s getting impatient, he can tell. Karen rocks her hips up, finds a good angle with the line of his cock. He’s rock-hard beneath her, wants inside her.

Frank looks over, picks up one of the condoms, and rips it open.

“You ready? I’d open you up first, but these hands—”

“I’m ready, Frank,” she says, nodding, and takes the condom from him, rolls it down. She reaches behind her for the coffee table, after that—Frank steadies her with his hands on her waist—and she returns with the lube, squirting some out onto her fingers.

He watches her touch herself, mouth wide open again, and she smiles as she rubs the rest over his cock.

“I want you to fill me up.”

That he can do. He doesn’t know why her forwardness is surprising—Karen’s never been one to hold back. God, he wants to see how filthy she’ll talk when he gets her going.

Their hands come down to guide him in. He grunts as she sinks down on him the first time—and then she rises back up, and sinks down a little deeper. Frank’s hands are just holding her hips, not wanting to push it until her ass is flush with his thighs.

It takes four thrusts, and then he wraps his arms around her, tight.

“Fuck, that feels good,” she says, and buries her face in his neck.

He couldn’t agree more.

 

They clean up in the bathroom after, and Frank takes a reluctant shower—he’s been avoiding it, with all the stitches, but he stinks.

She’s not in the bathroom when he gets out. Frank takes the opportunity to snoop through the medicine cabinet, and finds what he needs to trim and file his nails. It’s a relief that she’s not hovering, not treating him like he’s broken. Some of his bruises are turning green, when he looks in the mirror.

He finds her in the kitchen when he’s done. She’s in her underwear and a t-shirt, pulling things out of the fridge. Frank smiles at the view, and ducks into her bedroom to put on clean underwear from his bag.

He lets Karen manhandle him back toward her bedroom after they eat.

He checks his phone, and there’s a missed call from Amy, so he calls her back as he crawls into bed. Karen’s picking up her clothes from the floor, and tossing them in the hamper in her closet.

“I met Nate today,” Amy says. She’s in Pensacola now, and had gone by the dive school.

First Lieutenant Nathan Becker flew a V-22 transport and medevac helicopter for their unit, two tours before Curtis lost his leg. Solid guy, shitty tattoos.

“He said Curtis saved his life more than once,” Amy says. “And that you were always a dick, but always got the job done.”

“Sounds about right,” he replies with a smile, as Karen pulls back the covers, and gets beneath them. He slides a hand across the sheets to touch her skin. “See any gators yet?”

The kid scoffs. “The gators have their own _theme parks_ , Frank. Honestly. I can’t _believe_ you sent me to Florida. The humidity hates my hair so much. If it gets any more poofy it might become sentient.”

Frank chuckles into the phone. “You’ll get used to it. Or, y’know, just shave your head. I’m sure Nate would agree, it’s only practical, just gets in the way when you’re diving.”

“Ha-ha, very funny,” she says. “ _You’re_ in a good mood.”

Frank rolls his eyes, and smiles. “Yeah, well.”

“Have you talked to Karen?”

Karen’s on her stomach beside him now, propped up on her elbows. “A little bit,” Frank says. He’s staring right at her. “It’s late, kid, I should go.”

“You’re so transparent, Frank. Have you kissed her yet?”

“Mind your own damn business, kid.” He hangs up, and tosses the phone on the floor.

There’s a smile on Karen’s face when he looks back at her. “You’re sweet with her,” she says.

He slides a finger up her arm, and takes a breath before he answers. “She’s a couple years older than Lisa’d be.”

Karen’s face falls a little, and she scoots closer to him, and Frank holds his arms out, wraps them around her when she curls her body against his.

“Was that hard for you?” Karen asks softly, pressing her forehead into his neck. “Spending time with her?”

“No. It was… she’s infuriating, but it was good, I think.”

“Made you think, didn’t she.”

Frank shrugs. “I get stuck in my perspective, y’know. Think my way’s always best.”

Karen hums, rubbing her face into his skin. “What do you know, Frank—Amy and Madani and I might actually make a functional person out of you yet.”

“Yeah, don’t hold your breath.”

Karen snorts, and pulls up on one elbow to kiss him, until his hands are holding her hair behind her ears, and he’s groaning into her mouth.

“I still think I’m right about this,” he says, rubbing his thumb into her cheek. “Can’t get what you want, Karen. Not without a price. I can’t afford to be selfish.”

She considers him, and then looks down. “Then what are you doing here?”

“I like how I feel when I’m with you,” he says. “I didn’t wanna come here ‘cause I know I won’t wanna leave.” Frank sighs, and cups his hand around the nape of her neck. “Love, y’know, it makes people stupid.”

 

Karen’s bed is much more comfortable than the one in the trailer.

Frank’s been waking up in a different place most mornings for the past ten months or so—he’s had to remember where he is, what state, what town, what shitty motel.

He wakes up next to Karen Page and reminds himself—she knows every horrible thing he’s ever done, and he’s in her bed. It’s way more than he deserves, but he loves her. He can’t help giving in, can’t help feeling excited to be awake if it means he gets to see her.

Eventually, Karen rolls over. It’s still early, the sun isn’t fully up, but she opens her eyes, and sees him.

The side of her mouth pulls up into a smile. “You watchin’ me sleep, Castle?”

“Quit bein’ so pretty an’ I’ll stop.”

Karen chuckles. “A little early to be turning on the charm, isn’t it? Haven’t even had my coffee,” she says, and looks across at the clock. “I don’t have to be up for another hour.”

She yawns, and stretches her limbs, and then leans in for a kiss, and then another.

He doesn’t even know what day of the week it is.

Frank grins, and lets a hand skim down her body, under the sheets at her waist. He tugs at the elastic at the front of her panties, and raises his eyebrows at her. “Yeah?”

She nods, and smiles into his mouth as Frank slides his hand inside, slips two fingers between the lips of her pussy.

He makes her gasp when his fingers come up to circle her clit.

Karen bites her lip, and lets it go on a whine. “Gonna put ‘em inside me now?”

Frank nods, still rubbing her. She must have heard him in her bathroom the night before. “My nails were pretty ragged.”

“Yeah, shooting guns and beating people up’ll do that.”

“You like it,” he accuses, and brings his fingertips to her entrance, collecting her wetness, before he pushes inside.

She doesn’t refute him, instead brings her teeth to his neck, and bites down beneath his jaw, and kisses the spot. “Maybe a little bit.”

Frank groans, and rolls Karen onto her back, lays at her side while he shoves a second finger inside her, and uses his thumb on her clit.

Her hips rock up into his touch, and she’s grinning, hands scrabbling on his skin like she doesn’t know where to grasp. “You gonna fuck me before work, Frank? I have to take a shower anyway.”

Frank scoffs at her. “Well, as long as it’s convenient for you—” he says, and looks down at her tits instead, wraps his mouth around one.

Karen cracks up, dragging her hands through his hair. “Please, Frank.”

And then he’s pulling his fingers out of her, and getting up on his knees, moving between her legs, stripping his briefs off, tossing them onto the floor.

He helps Karen get her panties down, and looks up in time to see her tugging at a nipple, and then she rolls over, reaches for the side table, and opens a drawer. She returns with a condom, but leaves it on the sheets, reaches for his cock with both hands.

Karen touches him with urgency, and confidence, her legs open, and when he levers down on top of her, she wraps them around him.

“Need you inside me again, Frank.”

He ruts against her hip, testing his range of motion—the pain’ll just make him last longer—and then she rips open the condom, and her hands roll it down to the base of his cock.

Frank presses inside her, holds himself above her on his elbows, swings his hips in to the hilt. She’s so deliciously warm, in every place where their skin is touching, and inside her, where even through the latex she’s swollen and hot.

He closes his eyes, pulls back, and thrusts into her again.

Karen curses under her breath, and kisses his face, all four of her limbs around him now. “Harder.”

Frank grunts into her temple as he digs his knees in deeper, slams into her.

“M’not hurting you?” He’s asking because it’s hurting _him_ , of course, but he won’t tell her that.

“I can take some rough handling, Frank.”

“You askin’ for it?”

“Yes.”

Frank closes his eyes, cursing his body, and wraps one hand around her jaw, fists the other in her hair, but doesn’t tug. “Tell me that again when I’m healed up, an’ I’ll give it to you as rough as you want, darlin’.”

“Yeah, you promise?”

“Yeah, I promise,” he says through gritted teeth, as he fucks into her again. “I bet you been thinkin’ about it, haven’t you.”

She nods. “Yes, Frank.”

“Tell me. How’s it gonna go.”

Karen groans, licking her lips. “You’re gonna come home in the middle of the night, and I’ll have been waiting up for you, but—but I got frustrated, started touching myself without you—”

“Jesus Christ,” Frank says. He can’t stop, he’s gotta keep pounding into her.

“And you walk in and I’ve got my ass up in the air and you just—” Karen cuts off, whimpers a little.

“What do I do, Karen? Hold you down an’ fuck you?” It’s not even seven in the goddamn AM and she’s got him talking like this. Frank tightens the fist in her hair, pulls in time with the next thrust.

It sounds like she’d tried to say “Uh-huh” as she nods, but it turns into a low moan. “You spank me, too.”

“Why? You deserve it?”

Karen shakes her head, and he loosens his fingers. “Just feels good. You’re the only one I trust to do it right.”

“Yeah, why’s that.”

“’Cause I know you don’t want to hurt me.”

Leave it to Karen Page to put his skills to use. “It’s my job to give you what you want, huh.”

“That’s right.”

Frank clenches his eyes shut, but he can feel her bring a hand down to touch herself. He’s grateful, wouldn’t manage to hold himself up and get her off in this position. He holds out, gives it to her steady while her hand’s furious at her clit, wraps his mouth around a nipple, tugs on her hair again when she’s getting ready to come.

She’s fucking beautiful. Moans and gasps as she throbs around him, holds him as he spills inside her.

Karen hums at him, smiles, kisses his cheeks. “That was good.”

Frank chuckles as he pulls out of her, and ties off the condom. She looks over at the clock on her bedside table, and hands him a tissue from the box beside it. Frank wraps up the condom, glad to not have to find a trash can right away, and collapses beside her.

She’s got one hell of a mouth on her. Holy fucking shit. Spanking, taking her from behind—he’s in _so_ much trouble.

 

They’re dozing in her bed when the alarm goes off. Karen groans as she leans over him to grab her phone, and stops the godawful noise.

Godawful because it means she’ll be out of bed, and out of the apartment.

“I gotta go take a shower,” she says, resting her chin on his chest. “You want coffee?”

“Sure,” he says, touching her hair.

Karen grins, and kisses him before she climbs off the bed. 

After a moment, Frank gets up as well, and trails behind her into the kitchen. He watches her start the coffee maker, and take down two mugs from a green cabinet.

She spins toward him, then, pointing a finger at his chest. “Don’t you dare follow me into the shower or I’ll definitely be late. Don’t even look at me.”

He puts his hands up. “Hey, you’re lookin’ at me, lady.”

Her gaze dips to his crotch, and back up. “Likely story.”

Karen brushes past him toward the bathroom, and shuts the door behind her. Frank sits his bare ass on the edge of one of her kitchen stools, chuckles to himself, and waits for the coffee to brew.

The pipes in her shower screech a little after Karen turns on the water, and he zones out, watching the coffee drip.

He doesn’t know how long they’ll be able to do this. Neither of them is going to _die_ because they spent the night together—it’s about whatever trouble he gets into next. Bill’s dead, Amy’s out-of-state. He could probably just lay low for a while.

It’s completely unsustainable, though. He’d be kidding himself to believe they could do this.

The shower turns off, and a hair dryer turns on.

After a few minutes, Karen emerges wrapped in a towel, and by the time Frank is halfway through his cup of coffee, she’s fully dressed. Karen goes back into the bathroom, but leaves the door open, so he picks up his mug and follows.

Frank pauses in the doorway. She’s doing her face in the mirror.

“You’re back with Nelson an’ Murdock now, right?”

She smiles at his reflection. “That’s Nelson, Murdock, _and Page_ to you. I do most of the dirty work before they can stop me.”

“My god,” Frank says, shaking his head. “Why am I not surprised.”

“At least now we have clients that pay us in actual money. We work out of a deli—casseroles and baked goods are only acceptable as a tip.”

Frank hums at that. “Gonna tell him about this? Murdock?”

Karen sighs. “Y’know Frank, you’re out of line,” she says, and by her tone, this has been brewing for a while. “You think you know what you’re talking about, but you don’t. If you had any actual awareness about what’s gone down in the last two years—” Karen shakes her head, and turns to face him, leans against the sink. “Just don’t, okay? Don’t talk about him.”

He holds his breath, feeling like he fucked up. “Okay, I’m—sorry.”

Karen crosses the bathroom, and touches his face. “What you said before, in the hospital—I know your point was just that I have other options, but he’s never been one.”

“There somethin’ I should know about?”

“I don’t want to get into it right now.” She leans in, and kisses him. “I’ll see you tonight, right?”

Frank nods. “I’ll be here. I’ll make us somethin’ to eat, how ‘bout that.”

She smiles, and trails a finger down his chest. “I get home about six. As for whether I’ll tell Matt—I won’t have to say a word. He’ll smell you on me.”

“He’ll know it’s me?”

“He knows you’re back in town, he’ll figure it out,” Karen says, with just a hint of a smirk. “And no, that’s not why I let you fuck me this morning.”

Frank scoffs at her, shuffles his feet. “ _Let me_ , huh? Why’d you do it, then?”

She shrugs. “I’ve learned I’m always on borrowed time with you. Can’t waste a second of it.”

 

Frank puts on some clothes after Karen leaves, and makes eggs and toast around ten. He hasn’t had a real kitchen to use in a while, and it’s a relief. He washes the pan and his plate, and peruses her bookshelves.

Karen has a copy of _Life of Pi_ that looks like it’s seen better days. He never read it himself, just brought it to the shithole for Lieberman. Last he heard, Leo was on some kind of robotics team. That’s way above Frank’s pay grade—when he was fourteen, his folks could barely get him to do his classwork, let alone extracurriculars.

Frank sits down on Karen’s couch with the book, and cracks it open. Leo’s already spoiled the ending, and he gets through a dozen or so pages before he’s not really reading it anymore, just staring at the lines of text.

Borrowed time wasn’t an understatement, but it’s not like he knows what to do next. And he’s sitting in the same spot where he and Karen had fucked the night before. Although it sounds ridiculous to call anything he could do with Karen _fucking_. Nothing about his relationship with her could ever be casual. It might be desperate, but never easy, never inconsequential.

There’s too much at stake.

Frank’s burner rings on the coffee table after he’s finally closed the book. It’s Madani. He rejects the call. The last thing he needs is her direct, needle-sharp judgement.

After a minute or so, though, his phone dings, and he groans as he leans over to grab it. Madani’s left him a text message instead of a voicemail.

**_You left your ring in my car._ **

His reaction is full-body, involuntary—Frank nearly chokes on a gasp as he stands, and brings his free hand to his head.

He calls her back immediately.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he demands, as soon as she picks up.

“Well, Frank, y’know, when my car gets stolen I look around in it, see if anything’s missing,” she says, firm, like she doesn’t care for his tone one bit. “There was a ring in the footwell with your name on it.”

“Son of a bitch—Pilgrim.”

“What?”

“That guy Pilgrim, he must have taken it when—shit, Madani, I had that ring on a chain, the night I got in the fight with his men, back in Ohio. It got broken off my neck.”

“So you didn’t leave it in my car.”

“I haven’t seen it in a week. Can I—god, where are you. Can I come pick it up?”

“Yeah, I’ll. Well, I’m nowhere near Corona, but I could—”

“I’m not at the trailer,” he says. “I’m—I’m at Karen’s. Right off the Williamsburg Bridge.”

Madani sighs through the phone. “All right. Send me the address, I’ll be there in fifteen, but only because you brought my car back.”

“Thank you.”

Frank paces around Karen’s apartment for ten minutes before taking the elevator down to the lobby, and watches from a window for Madani’s Crown Vic to pull into the loading zone out front.

He’s out the door before she’s even come to a complete stop.

Dinah rolls down the driver’s side window. “Hey,” she says, and pulls her purse from the passenger seat into her lap. She unzips a pocket, and looks up at him. “I’m glad I was able to reunite you with this.”

Frank holds his hand out, and she presses the ring into it.

“Thought it was lost,” he says, curling his fingers around it. “Thank you.”

She nods. “I hope I don’t have reason to see you for a while, Castle. _Rest._ Okay?”

These women keep thinking they can boss him around—and sure, maybe he should let them. Or at least let them think that they’ve won.

Frank sighs, rubbing his thumb over the edge of the ring. “Yeah, okay, Madani.”

“I don’t know what’s going on with you and Karen, but don’t let her down, Frank. That girl loves you.”

He nods. “I love her too.”

Dinah’s face shifts, just a little, her eyes widening—he can’t tell if it’s surprise or not. “Good,” she says, and looks away. “Well. I have to go, Frank. Lotta shit to clean up.”

From the sidewalk, he watches her pull away down the street, and then looks down at the ring, turns it in his fingers to see the engraving.

_Maria, all my love, Frank._

 

Frank goes back inside, takes the elevator to Karen’s floor, and lets himself back into her apartment. He hasn’t stopped worrying at the ring, and swears it’s shinier when he finally sets it on the table in her kitchen, and sits down.

Maybe he shouldn’t find a new necklace for it, not with Karen in the mix. He doesn’t think she’d be bothered by it, though, at least not in a jealous sort of way. Not after everything they’ve said. She’d just think it’s time to put it away.

_You cannot keep loving people in your dreams._

Frank rests his elbows on the table, puts his head in his hands.

Maria never had the kind of vigilant anxiety that Frank did, not about day-to-day things. She was always trying to get him to relax, to just let things happen. It was okay with her to not have plans, to let the kids make messes. But she never let him off the hook for anything.

He can hear her now. _Aren’t you tired, Frank? How far is this one-man army routine going to go?_

She was always busting his balls about something, but he usually needed to hear it. He usually needed to hear it from her and not a screaming, power-hungry CO.

_What’s going to be left of you, Frank? What can you give to others besides death?_

And she was always looking into his eyes and asking for the truth, for reassurance. And giving it in return. Sometimes her truth absolutely shredded him, though.

_I’m not mad. I want you to have joy._

He slides the band onto his left hand, and then works it off again.

It scares him too much to leave it in his pocket, so Frank stands from the table, and carries the ring into Karen’s bedroom. He opens his bag, and zips the ring away in his shaving kit. He’d rather always know where it is.

His phone dings in his pocket, and Frank pulls it out, flips it open. There’s a text from Amy, this time. **_Do u have an email address?_**

He doesn’t know how the fuck he ended up like this. He’s not used to it, being spoken to, cared for. It’s like he’s surrounded, even though he’s alone in Karen’s apartment.

Even Maria’s talking to him.

It’s easier to deal with having guns trained on him. Those he can anticipate.

Frank responds to the kid— ** _pcastigli1@gmail.com_** , because even ghosts have email accounts—and fishes his laptop and charger from the floor by Karen’s bed. By the time it’s done booting up, she’s sent him another text.

**_Watch the video._ **

It never goes well when people send him videos.

This one’s from a news broadcast, and there’s a giant headline in the screenshot— _KAREN PAGE SPEAKS OUT_. He clicks it, heart in his throat, like he can barely get air through.

She’s wearing a sweatshirt, and her hair’s inside it, like her hood had been up. Like she’s hiding. But she opens her mouth with determination, with fire in her belly, into the microphones surrounding her.

_“Last night, Wilson Fisk tried to have me killed because I know the truth.”_

He should’ve ended that son of a bitch the last time they were face-to-face. He never woulda gotten out of prison, though. He puts a hand to his forehead and tries to just listen.

_“The man who was wearing the Daredevil suit is not the real Daredevil. He is an imposter who is helping Wilson Fisk take back control of New York’s criminal underworld.”_

She’s so fucking strong. Frank feels like he could throw up.

He hits the call button instead.

“Hello-yello,” Amy says, practically a chirp—and she must _know_ this is serious—Frank pulls the phone away from his ear, and makes a face.

“Hey,” he says, finally. “How’d you find this?”

The kid scoffs. “She told me her full name, it wasn’t that hard. This clip is from four months ago, Frank.”

Karen never called him. David didn’t either, Curtis didn’t, not even to say that Fisk was released. He left on his little road trip and she dealt with this on her own.

But it’s his own fault, he realizes, almost immediately—he has all of their numbers memorized, but rarely offers the one for a new burner up unasked. He was just gone, hadn’t talked to anyone in weeks when this would have happened.

He wasn’t reachable. He doesn’t think he’s given the email address to anyone but Amy. He made it out of necessity, and to send things to himself without a smartphone, not to be sociable.

“So she was, like, one of your lawyers, right?” Amy asks. “She sounds like a badass. If you don’t make out with her, I might have to.”

He might as well tell her. “We’re, uh, we’re together. I’m at her apartment.”

“Wait, really? Oh my god, Frank!” She makes a noise like she might cry. “That’s great, oh my god.”

Frank smiles tightly. “Thanks for sending me this, kid.”

He hangs up with Amy and reads everything he can find on the internet—Fisk’s transfer to The Presidential Hotel, and the uproar surrounding it. Corrupt civil servants.

Someone dressed as Daredevil, killing people, just as Karen said. It’s not Murdock’s fighting style, and not his altar boy moral code either. Innocent people get killed.

He even attacks The Bulletin.

And Karen hasn’t said anything, other than to get snippy with him about Murdock. Probably doesn’t want Frank to blame himself, but he will anyway. Overwhelming doesn’t even begin to cover this day.

“Fuck,” he says, under his breath. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Karen.”

He’d better make one hell of a dinner. He goes through her fridge, and makes a grocery list.

 

The sauce has been simmering for almost two hours when Karen gets home—the smell has permeated the apartment, ground chuck and lamb. He stands in front of the pot with a wooden spoon, and looks back at her as she’s taking off her coat.

“Something smells good,” she says with a smile, and comes around the kitchen island, touches his shoulder, gives him a kiss.

He smiles against her lips. “You wanna taste it?”

Karen nods, so Frank scoops a little onto the spoon and blows on it. She keeps her eyes on his as she wraps her mouth around the side of the spoon, and he watches her face change from contemplative into a pleased glow. “Is that bolognese?” she asks, licking her lips. “It’s good.”

He nods. “They didn’t have pancetta at the store, but. This is the only way my ma could ever get me to eat celery.”

Karen touches the back of his neck, hums at him. “Your bruising is going down.” Her fingers trail down his arm as she steps away, across the kitchen, and opens a cabinet. “You want wine?”

“Sure.”

She pours for both of them, and brings him a glass, sets it on the counter next to him.

“The kid sent me a video today,” he starts, cautiously, putting the lid back on the sauce. “You were giving a statement to the press.”

“Oh.” Karen says, and puts her glass down as well, pulls herself up to sit next to it on the kitchen island. “Yeah, that. I’m guessing you heard about the Bulletin too, then?”

Frank nods, but says nothing, just reaches over for his glass and waits for her to talk.

“I had brought in a source, Jasper Evans,” she says, with a sigh. “Matt wanted this guy on tape, admitting to shanking Fisk, making Fisk look like a target, so he’d be let out.”

Frank didn’t read anything about that—and there’s an obvious enough reason. “So he came to kill the source.”

She nods. “We’d barely started the interview when someone cut the power in the building. Matt and Foggy were just downstairs, and—god, Frank. He killed three people, my coworkers. Injured—I don’t know how many others. Just because they were there. It was horrific. And Matt showed up in a mask, and fought him, while I hid with Ellison and Foggy and Jasper behind a door.”

Frank brings a hand to his mouth. “Jesus Christ.”

“We barricaded the door, I had my gun, but when he came in, he knocked it out of my hand, he—he shot Jasper Evans in the head, over my shoulder. Attacked Foggy and Ellison. I was the only one left without a scratch,” she says, and her voice breaks.

Frank steps forward, looking up at her, and slides his hands up her thighs. She spreads them, pulls him in.

“I went to see Ellison in the hospital the next day,” she continues. “He knew I’d met Daredevil before, wanted to know everything, and I told him, y’know, that wasn’t Daredevil. He talked to me like I knew him, and he was wearing the suit but it wasn’t—it wasn’t Matt.”

“Ellison wanted to know how you knew.”

Karen nods again. “I refused to identify the real Daredevil, so.” Karen pauses, breathes out through her nose. “He, uh, he fired me.”

That must have crushed her. He leans forward, presses his forehead to hers. “I’m so sorry, Karen.”

She nods against him, and sniffs. “This guy killing for Fisk, this imposter—he was FBI, Frank. Fisk had his claws so deep—I got out, but it was by the skin of my damn teeth.”

Frank pulls back to meet her eyes. “Did you try to call me?”

“No, you had the pardon, I wasn’t going to pull you back into all of this again—”

“Nah, bullshit, I wasn’t there for you—wasn’t even paying attention.”

“I hadn’t heard from you in _months_ ,” she says, raising her voice. “You called me before you skipped town and that was it. And I already knew the number I had was disconnected. I thought maybe Madani, but—I don’t know—”

He sighs, lifts a hand to her cheek. “Didn’t you think I would come?”

“I _knew_ you would, Frank. I knew you’d drop everything, come storming in guns blazing like you always do.” She brings her hands up around the back of his neck, her eyes shining. “Don’t you remember how you looked after the last time you saved my life? Huh? What was I supposed to do, just ask you to nearly die for me again? That’s how you would have handled it. You would have killed him, Frank, but he could have taken you with him. I wanted to let the law handle it.”

He shakes his head. “That’s bullshit. This is my purpose, Karen. If I can’t be—if I can’t defend you, I’m nothing.”

She stares right back through her tears. “If I can’t defend _myself_ , then _I’m_ nothing.”

“Karen,” he says, soft, wiping under her eyes with his thumb.

“I went to see Fisk after he got out.”

“You did _what?_ ”

“There were cameras everywhere. I thought if I got him attacking me on tape, he’d have to go back to prison.”                             

“You _intentionally_ —what’d you say to him?”

“I told him that I was there when his mother admitted that Fisk had killed his father. And when that didn’t work, I told him who killed James Wesley. Fisk’s right hand.”

Frank frowns. “Who was it?”

“Me.”

“What?”

“See, that right there is the kind of shit I’m talking about,” she says, pointing a finger, and he backs up, takes his hands from her face, lowers them. “You won’t let me risk what I’ve built for myself like it’s not on sawdust anyway. I don’t have family. I called my dad when Fisk was after me, Frank. He wouldn’t let me come home.”

If he asks her why, it’s just another thing he doesn’t know. Frank sighs, and spreads his hands over her thighs again. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, not as sorry as me.”

He closes his eyes. “I should’ve been there.”

“Well, maybe if you had been, Amy’d be dead.”

He looks up at her, startled. “I love you. Do you understand that? Do you know what that means? To me? When I say I might not get up again if you die, I mean that shit. I hate myself for being here with you right now. Every moment we spend together puts you at risk.”

“But when I _am_ at risk, you want to be there.”

Frank huffs. “There’s a difference, Karen.”

“Do I not get a say in this?”

He gestures toward her with his hand. “You insisted I come home with you.”

“You wanna leave, go right ahead. You wanna go sleep in that trailer tonight, that’s fine.”

His heart sinks—he can feel the blood start to drain out of his face. Frank shakes his head. “I don’t want to.”

“Well then check-fucking-mate, Frank. Because I love you too, okay? God knows my life would be less complicated if I didn’t.”

It’s not new information, not really. He could always tell she did—it’s why he’s always needed to protect her from herself. She’d fight for him if he’d let her.

There are so many things he should say.

_I can’t stop being what I am, Karen. Not even for you. And I can’t let you hold out hope for something I know I can’t give you._

_It’s not about what I want._

_We’ll destroy each other._

“Thank you,” he says instead. Karen laughs, hard—but he means it. “I’d ask you to marry me if this wasn’t my life, Karen.”

If this wasn’t his life, Maria would still be alive, though, and he and Karen would very likely never have met. If Karen’s thinking that, she doesn’t let it show on her face. She smiles, and says, “I’d say yes.”

 

They boil the pasta and eat dinner, eventually. Wash dishes side-by-side. Curl up on the couch.

Karen tries a few positions, and ends up stretched out between his legs, arms around him, face buried in his shirt. He wants to kiss her some more but he’s enjoying this. Listening to her breathe with his fingers in her hair.

It’s not a tense silence, they’re not thinking too hard about what they should fill the space with. It becomes one, though, at least in his head.

When Frank finally speaks, it’s a warning.

“Curt says I’m a shark. That I don’t know how to stay in one place.”

Karen hums, lifts her head to look at him. “Have you tried?” she asks. “Have you wanted to?”

He could tell her, about Beth. Karen probably thinks she’s the first woman he’s been with since Maria, though, and maybe he should let her keep thinking that.

Beth would never have seen him fully. He wouldn’t have let her, would never have dumped his truth in her lap to sort through. She didn’t need that, wouldn’t want it—she’d be scared of him. And there’s not a person alive who would call her unreasonable for it.

“I thought about it. Didn’t work out, never would have, y’know, but.” Frank winces, touches her hair. “I was, uh—I was with someone, before I came back to New York.”

There’s surprise in her face, and a little hurt. She pulls back from him by an inch or so, so he takes his hand away, curls it into a fist.

“How long were you together.”

“About twenty-four hours,” he says. “It was kinda, y’know, an extended one-night stand. She had a kid. It felt like… like…”

“Like being at home.”

“Yeah.”

Karen sighs—her relief’s palpable, and he feels like he can touch her again, so he does, tucks some of her hair behind her ear.

“How much did you tell her?”

Frank shrugs a shoulder. “Nothin’. I was Pete, y’know, just passin’ through.”

Karen smirks a little. “Find that hard to believe.”

“What?”

“That you’d let a woman believe that. Not if you liked her.”

“Okay, fine, she knows my name’s Frank. But she didn’t when I went home with her.”

“How’d you meet her?”

“She was pouring drinks at this dive bar in Ohio, next door to the motel I was staying at.”

Karen rolls her eyes. “Swanky.”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t have to tell her it was just days ago.

“So why aren’t you off playing house with her in Ohio? Besides Russo, and, and Amy—”

He sighs. “I—well.” He’s going to have to tell her. “The bar where she works, it’s how I met Amy. We were both there, two nights in a row, and the second night, a group of trained fighters came in to kill her. She’s just a fuckin’ kid. No way she had a legit I.D.”

“So you stepped in.”

Frank nods. “Big brawl in the middle of this fuckin’ bar. I didn’t have a gun or nothin’, but. Beth got caught in it, shot in the shoulder.”

“Jesus, Frank. What did you do?”

“Drove her to the emergency room, and ran with the kid.”

“Wait, how long ago was this? A week? Two? It was, wasn’t it.”

Shit. He sighs, closes his eyes. “Maybe ten days, I don’t know.”

Karen sits up, scoots away from him. “Is there anyone else I should know about?” Her jaw’s set.

Frank sits up, swings his feet to the floor, and turns to face her. “Listen to me,” he says. “I get it, I can’t imagine hearing this now, after how we’ve spent the past couple days. But it was… it was a fantasy. I would never have told her what I am. She was unconnected, never would have gotten hurt because of me. But that got fucked up, too.” He sighs, shakes his head. “If I’d known that you and I were gonna do this, now, I woulda turned her down, Karen.”

“So why even tell me this?”

“I’m scared, y’know, that I’ll never be able to stop being the Punisher. That I’ll be the Punisher until someone finally manages to kill me. You deserve more’n that.”

She shakes her head. “I’m still not following.”

“When I met her I hadn’t pulled my gun out in about six weeks. Thought maybe I had _options_ , or some shit. Wanted to see if I could do it. And then with the kid, with Amy, I jumped in—and it was a relief to be in a fight. It felt good.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “This is what I am, Karen. It’s what I do. I can’t be—you know, the doting husband. I can’t be normal, not for long. I’m self-destructive, I’m—”

“I know who you are, Frank.”

“Then you know what a risk we’re taking.”

“Stop that,” she says sharply, holding his gaze. “In your heart, do you want to be with me? Do you want this to be home?”

“Yes.”

“Are you gonna run from me as soon as there’s trouble?”

“ _Karen_ —”

“Don’t _Karen_ me. I think I’ve made it perfectly clear that bad things happen whether you’re here or not, Frank. And there’ll always be _someone_ after you. In fact, let me tell you right now, if you need to leave the city, I’m coming with you. We’re in this together, or not at all.”

He leans away, against the back of the couch, scrubs one hand down his face, over his chin. It’s an ultimatum, one he doesn’t like, but god, she has him. Anyone who’d know where to look for him would pay a visit to her first.

Frank holds that hand out between them.

They shake on it.

 

Frank takes a shower before bed. When he enters her room, naked and toweled off, Karen’s under the covers with her laptop. He leans down to pull fresh underwear from his bag—he’ll need to do laundry soon—and sits at the end of the bed to tug them on.

Behind him, Karen folds down the blankets, and Frank crawls in. Somehow it feels even more domestic than her coming home from work while he’s making dinner.

Frank’s not quite sure where they stand, though.

He turns onto his side to face her, tucks his arm under his head. “What are you working on?”

“I’ve gotta finish some research for Foggy.” Karen tilts the screen to show him. She has a few tabs open, and what look like scanned legal documents. “We’ve got a client, well, three, actually, employees of the same asshole, want to sue him for workplace discrimination.”

“They have a leg to stand on?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

Maybe he should leave her to it. She’s not wearing pants, though.

He watches her scroll through the text-heavy pages, her brow furrowed in concentration. She copy-and-pastes a few paragraphs into a Word document, plump lower lip caught in her teeth.

He still feels on-edge, like they’re in a fight—so much has happened, and he wants to smooth things over before they go to sleep, before Karen has to go to work, before he’s by himself.

He wants to eat her pussy again. Feel her come under his tongue.

If he puts his hands on her and she tells him no, he’ll stop. He’ll go retrieve _Life of Pi_ from her living room, let her get her work done.

Tucking his arm beneath the blankets, Frank slides a few inches closer to her, wraps his hand around the top of her thigh, rubs his thumb over her skin. He glances up at her face. She hasn’t reacted, eyes still on her computer screen. A good sign, overall.

Frank flexes his fingers, spreads them, slides his hand down over her inner thigh. Trails his fingers back down toward her knee. And then he does it again. On the third pass, Karen bends that knee, and lets it fall open toward him. An invitation, a wordless _yes, more please_. Frank smiles, and dips his hand a little further up her thigh than he had before. Digs his fingers in.

She’s slumped down from her sitting position against the headboard, now, her laptop on her stomach. Her lip’s still between her teeth.

He’s gotta make her ask for it. Frank switches to the opposite thigh, starts from the beginning, by her knee, and slides his hand up, massages into the meat of her thigh on the way back down.

When he glances up again, Karen’s eyes dart away, her hands frozen over the keyboard, just a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

Almost.

He rotates his wrist, grazes the backs of his bent fingers over her skin. Wraps his hand around the back of her knee—he barely has to lift before both of her legs are splayed to the side. He smooths an open hand up her inner thigh, until his thumb is just brushing the edge of her panties.

“Frank—”

He looks up. “What, sweetheart.”

“Please.” She’s gripping the side of her laptop.

He smiles, and leans in, presses a kiss to her thigh. “Please what?”

Karen whimpers, just a little, and huffs. She closes her laptop and unplugs it, shoves it to the other side of the bed. “Quit teasin’ me and do something about how wet you’re makin’ me. It’s the _least_ you could do, after today.”

She sure knows how to go for the jugular.

Frank grunts at her, petting her thigh again. And then he drags his hand up to her panties, tucks a finger inside the crotch, presses his knuckle against her, drags it to her clit and back. She’s wet, all right.

“Take them off, please, Frank.”

He obeys—Karen brings her knees to her chest to help him, and when she’s bare, he makes himself comfortable on his stomach, welcoming her thighs as they settle over his ears.

Frank smiles up at her, and licks a single stripe up her pussy. When he looks up, she’s got her mouth open, eyes locked on him.

He slides a hand up over her belly button, inside her t-shirt.

She wants him to make this up to her, his news about Beth, wants reassurance that everything they said was real. Frank would, too, if he thought she had just fucked some guy until four in the morning. They’re both adults, she can do what she wants—but he’d want to lay claim, and he doesn’t think that makes him an asshole.

“I love you so much,” he says, softly, and presses a kiss the inside of her thigh. “Everything I’ve said to you is still true.”

Karen cards her fingers into his hair. “I believe you.”

Frank lets his brain turn off, and just devours her.

 

Frank pours black coffee for them both in the morning. Karen, dressed for work, hair curled in the front like a goddess, pecks his mouth as she takes the proffered mug from his hand.

He can’t believe it’s only been two days.

“Hey, so. I should have mentioned this last night, but Foggy and Matt want you to come in, meet with your lawyers.”

Frank snorts. “You mean they want to get a read on us.”

“Of course they do.” Reaching into her purse, Karen produces a business card, and hands it to him. It’s embossed, with green ink—Nelson, Murdock, and Page. There’s a street address, in Hell’s Kitchen, Nelson’s Meats. “We don’t really have an office yet, but I said I’d ask you to come in tonight, after hours. Have dinner.”

Frank takes the card, but doesn’t react.

“If you don’t want to, we don’t—”

He doesn’t, but it would probably make her life easier if he just says yes. “No, that’s fine. I’ll uh, I’ll pick up something, and meet you there, I guess?”

Karen nods. “Thank you. Foggy and Matt are ordering takeout.”

It’s not how he wanted to spend his Friday night, but they’re right to be worried—he’d judge them if they weren’t. And if he’s really honest, he wants to grill Murdock about Fisk.

His eyes fall on the cover of _Life of Pi_ after Karen leaves for work. He lays down on the couch and opens it, manages to get properly sucked in. The creatures in the lifeboat dwindle to two, and by the time Pi’s delirious and going blind, Frank’s stomach is growling.

He makes himself a bowl of cereal, and wonders what kind of animals his wife and children would be, if that was how he had made sense of things.

Maybe Bill’s the hyena.

As it’s getting dark that night, Frank pulls the brim of his hat over his eyes, and walks down the street. He turns into a bodega on the corner, and picks up a six-pack of the same beer in Karen’s fridge. The kid working the front takes his money and doesn’t ask for I.D., probably saw his stance and busted-up face, and didn’t want to cause trouble.

Frank does still have his fake passport and driver’s license. If Pete Castiglione had been compromised, it’d be splashed across every news outlet in the city.

He goes out to the sidewalk, and hails a cab.

Frank had never been to the office when Nelson and Murdock were defending him, but he hazards a guess that they weren’t working out of a butcher shop back then. There’s a small plaque near the door, in gold and black— _Nelson, Murdock and Page_.

Frank tries the handle, but it’s locked, and then through the window, he can see Nelson and Page turning to look. Murdock’s nowhere in sight. Karen strides forward to let him in.

“Hey,” she says, pulling open the door. “Thanks for coming.”

Frank nods as he walks through it. “Nice sign.”

“Yeah, don’t get me started on the Oxford comma,” she says, as she closes it behind him, and flips the deadbolt.

“Karen, for the last time, it’s not being used in a sentence.” Nelson steps forward. It’s going over Frank’s head, whatever they’re talking about, but it’s not about him, which is better than being shot at. “Pete,” Nelson says, putting his hand out. “It’s been a while.”

He looks crisp, in a three-piece suit lightyears past his public-defender chic, and without the air of superiority Bill always carried when he was wearing expensive shit.

Frank transfers the beer to his other arm, and shakes his hand. “Counselor.”

“Come on back.”

The three of them walk through the shop—it’s homey, old-fashioned like a soda fountain, the glass case gleaming, full of cuts. They pass through a door, and step into an office. It’s cramped, but there’s room for three desks arranged in an L. Murdock’s standing in the corner, holding his cane.

“Castle.”

He’s surprised Murdock wasn’t out front, lying in wait for him. “What’s up, altar boy.” Frank puts the six-pack down on one of the desks, and the bottles clink together.

“You brought beer,” Murdock says, a weird lilt of surprise in his voice. “We’ve actually got a full bar in the back, but we’re still waiting on food delivery.” It’s a slight—means he’s got Murdock on edge already.

Karen glares, but Foggy jumps in, reaching into his pocket, and comes up with a bottle opener.

“Thank you, Frank,” he says, smiling tightly. “This’ll go great with the dal makhani.”

They open four beers, but it’s really not a sufficient ice-breaker. He’s gonna need more than this to drink. It kind of feels like when he met Maria’s parents for the first time, a few days after he proposed. Her mother was very sweet and welcoming, and her father was pissed that Maria was marrying and having a child with a man who would never be home.

Murdock’s a powder keg, and Frank knows just how to set him off, get it over with. “I heard you let Fisk live,” he says, evenly. “So when he starts reigning terror around here again, I’ll know who to call.”

“We made a deal,” Murdock says. “I have evidence that would send his wife to prison.”

Frank makes a face. “You made a _deal_ with that piece of shit—you’re gonna just _trust_ Fisk?”

“I’m not like you. I don’t kill people.”

“Alright, stop it, both of you,” Karen says, stepping between them. “It’s not going to do a bit of good.”

There’s a knock on the glass of the front door.

Murdock clears his throat. “Karen, uh, could you get that? I left cash by the front counter.”

She scoffs. “Oh, _sure_. And leave you two here to duke it out.”

“I’ve got it,” Frank says, and puts down his beer. “Keep your money.”

Karen follows him out front, though, and stops him with a hand on his chest. “You really don’t have to,” she says. “The delivery guy will be expecting one of us, we order from here a lot.”

He sighs. “How much?”

“Sixty-five, with the tip.”

Frank reaches into his back pocket, and opens his wallet. He hovers by the meat counter while Karen trades the cash for a bag of styrofoam containers and tin foil.

They turn around, and the lawyers are each double-fisting beers and walking through a different doorway. When Frank and Karen join them, they’re pulling chairs out from a long table. Karen opens up the bag, and spreads out the styrofoam tubs—the smell of cloves and garlic and hot spices is pervasive even before the lids come off. Nelson points out Frank’s beer, and Karen’s, and then goes around the bar to get utensils and plates.

It’s been a long, long time since Frank has eaten family style.

Nelson was a fumbling newbie when Frank last saw him, but that guy’s hardly recognizable now. He’s confident, strong, looks Frank right in the eye. It’s good, it means Nelson’s not afraid of him, that he just cares about Karen.

“We heard all about Lewis Wilson,” Nelson says, after they’ve dished out the food. “We know how far you’d go for her, Frank, and we owe you a debt of gratitude. But honestly, we think Karen’s _batshit_ when it comes to you—”

“Foggy!” Karen cuts in.

“—and she always has been.”

Frank chuckles. “I don’t disagree with you on that front.”

Nelson smiles back, and gestures into the air. “Thank you.”

“But I’m still in love with her.”

The room stops, for a moment—Murdock’s chewing, Karen tearing her naan into strips—and Frank looks around at them.

“Did you think I wasn’t.”

Murdock sighs. “Karen made us promise not to try to rationalize what you two are doing.”

“And _after Elektra_ —” Karen starts.

“Yeah, I know, Karen—” Matt says, with a wince; there’s more to _that_ story, Frank can tell. “—and with the exception of Foggy, we are all criminals—”

“Hey!” Nelson interjects.

“—some more than others. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re still who you are, and we’d be fools to expect Brett Mahoney to snap his fingers and fix everything if this gets out. It really doesn’t matter what happens to you, Frank. But Karen has everything to lose.”

Frank stabs his fork into the lamb vindaloo. “You’re not tellin’ me anything I don’t already know.”

“So why are you doing this?”

“’Cause I live to make you suffer, Murdock. Jesus Christ. Have you ever tried to tell this woman no?”

Murdock sighs, chasing food around with his spoon. “More times than I can count.”

“Well, then you know, she does as she damn well pleases.”

“I’m _right here_ ,” Karen says.

Frank ignores her. “I don’t want this to bite her in the ass either. But I’m through with being gone while people are after her. _Someone_ needs to be watching her back.”

Karen scoffs. “What, and now I need a _boy_ to handle my shit? That’s not what this is about—”

“Listen,” Frank says, whirling on her, harsher than he means to. “You got a big damn mouth, Karen, and you’re a goddamn P.I., you’re gonna make a lotta enemies. I’m gonna be your guard dog or die trying. Got me?”

Karen presses her lips closed, and sits back in her chair.

Fuck. Which one of them is doing the convincing here? Frank swallows, and looks across the table. Nelson’s head is cocked to the side, a hand over his mouth.

Next to him, Murdock breaks into a laugh. “Shit, Karen. You two are a match made in hell, aren’t you.”

Karen’s stone-faced, until finally she laughs, too. “You’re goddamn right.”

 

 

**SIX WEEKS LATER**

Frank leaves Curt’s place around ten. It’s a Saturday night. They haven’t gone fishing or anything, but he’s been trying to _actually_ be a good friend, not just stay away until absolutely necessary.

He’d brought Curt a bottle of whiskey, and they drank about half of it over dinner. Shot the shit about Karen, and the pictures that Amy and Nate keep sending from Florida. Madani got a new job with the CIA, sounds like—she’ll be moving back overseas soon.

Delia, that girl Curt was crazy about, is long gone, now, and Frank still feels guilty about it. He still feels guilty about a lot of things.

They’re trying to do this more often, now, instead of group. Frank’s come to the church basement a couple more times, and Karen keeps pushing him about it, but he’s definitely not a regular. He doesn’t know the others well enough.

It’s free therapy, essentially, but the kind of head-shrinking that Frank needs would require a fuckin’ hospital.

And then there’s home. He doesn’t live there, but he might as well.

Frank unlocks his new truck and gets in the driver’s seat. It’s really not practical for city living, but he’s way too paranoid to ride the subways.

He gets on the highway and takes it to Williamsburg, parks in the garage behind Karen’s pre-war apartment building. The first time he handed her the cash for the monthly rental of a parking space, he thought he might shoot her landlord on sight. Blackmail him at the very least.

“You’d better get over it,” she said. “This is New York. I told you this would happen.”

His shitty apartment in Jackson Heights lacks Karen, but he prefers the melting-pot neighborhood feel there to her place in gentrified, hipster Brooklyn. And he needs a place to keep his guns. Not that there aren’t currently two of his handguns stashed around her place right now, in addition to her .380, and a Bowie knife.

Can’t sleep without ‘em.

Frank locks up the truck, and keeps the keys in his hand, nods to a neighbor of Karen’s as he opens the back door to the building, and heads up the stairs.

His body doesn’t ache when he gets to the fourth floor anymore.

Frank collects himself before he goes inside, drags a hand through his hair, over his beard. It’s growing out. Karen likes it, she’s always touching it, tugging on it.

She’ll be ready for him when he comes in. Waiting, revved up.

He slides the key into the lock, and turns.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://glycerineclown.tumblr.com), as always. This fic is rebloggable [here](http://glycerineclown.tumblr.com/post/182950082293/state-o-love-and-trust-frank-castlekaren-page), if you're so inclined! ♥


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